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where the raccoons had gotten in. I hoped that there was plywood or lumber lying about in one of the sheds, because the opening was quite large. Alex might have found it a tight squeeze but I could have gotten in that way without any trouble. It would be just our luck if a skunk decided it wanted to live under the house.
    “All done, Blue ?” I asked, and she came loping over. “Then let’s go have some breakfast.”
    After a light meal of pancakes made with berry yogurt, Alex went out to scare up some lumber and nail up the ventilation hole. I began assembling casseroles of scalloped potatoes, green beans and onions, and the nacho macaroni and cheese I had been too tired to make the night before. As I worked, I consulted my timeline which included not just what I was making but which baking dishes each side dish went in and when they needed to be added to the oven. Military campaigns have been launched with less careful planning, and I know that this amuses my mother, but I need everything written down in order to feel calm and confident of getting a dozen sides to the table all at the same time.
    The Jackmans arrived just before eleven and after the hugging and petting (of Blue) and shedding of coats, I regaled Agatha and Lawrence with tales of the raccoons’ midnight marauding. Mr. Jackman had had some experience with them out at his place and he also told us about how the raccoons had gobbled up the very expensive imported fish in the koi pond at Golden Gate Park back at the turn of the last century.
    As I had expected, it was only a few minutes before Lawrence had slipped on an apron and began helping with the meal. We have cooked together often enough that we are quite comfortable, even in a strange kitchen. He halved Brussels sprouts while I chopped cauliflower. Our conversation was easy and I said a prayer of thanks that we had had the good sense to leave Hope Falls and have a small feast with just our friends.
    Alex and Agatha retired to the fireplace for a visit and some coffee with Irish whiskey and Blue took up a position near the table where she could keep an eye on all of us. Usually she would have chosen the rug near the fire, but there was food in the kitchen, after all, and what was a dog supposed to do when torn between two imperatives?
    Beyond the kitchen window, the sky began to cloud up in the west and soon the sun failed. It wasn’t raining yet but a mist began to creep over the ground making everything look a bit ghostly.
    Finally the bird came out of the oven. The thermometer said we were safe so while it rested I made gravy. Mr. Jackman began carrying dishes to the table Agatha had set. Alex opened the wine and at two o’clock on the nose, we sat down to eat. The timeline triumphed again.
    We didn’t hurry and conversation was easy. We talked about all the things we were thankful for and had a good laugh speculating what poem Althea might have written that year. We said it was a shame that there was no cellphone reception and no landline so that we couldn’t call our family and friends to gloat—I mean, wish them a complicated Thanksgiving. And around three, we all began clearing the table, tucking away leftovers we would be enjoying for the next couple of days.
    We had all the lights on to combat the gloom, but the living room remained dark and shadowy, even with the fire burning in the hearth. I went over to the window that Alex had nailed shut and pulled back the drapes, hoping for a little more light and perhaps a last glimpse of the autumn leaves.
    I am not one of those people who run around shrieking uselessly during an emergency, but I’ll admit to a loud gasp when I opened the drapes and found myself eye to eye with a mountain lion.
    The cat and I stared at each other in astonishment and then it put a giant paw against the glass and started to moan. It was a horrible sound that fogged the glass and started Blue in with her werewolf howling.
    So, this was our spam eater and pie thief.